


My Heart is Like a Stallion

by Flames_and_Jade



Series: Only One For Me - Peterick OTP Prompts Repository [9]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftercare, Banter, Blow Jobs, Bottom!Pete, Cuddling, Light D/s, M/M, Smut, Srar era, before a show, cuteness, grumpy!Patrick, hyper!Pete, joe trohman's hair, nerves before the show, post-show fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9632654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Patrick has his pre-show ritual...and heaven help you if you interrupt it. Pete's feeling antsy and needy and disturbs his groove...and Patrick is NOT happy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Kinda not really an OTP prompt? But this was inspired by the video of Pete and Patrick walking out to show wearing matching “This Is Our Culture” jackets. The video shows Pete smiling and grinning as they walk onstage. Patrick doesn’t turn around to the camera, and other videos/photos show him being very serious before performances. That’s what inspired this story. Also, Goat Simulator is a real app in the Apple Store. I’m not making any money off endorsing it, but…it kinda has made me inordinately happy and ashamed at the same time =)

“Dude, look at this otter!! It’s _cuddling_ with a _dog!!!”_ Pete was bouncing on his toes as he pushed the phone towards his best friend.

 

Patrick only _humph’d_ and moved away, continuing to stretch and pace and play notes absently in the air, eyes closed more than they were open.

 

“ _Patrriiccckkkk.”_ He knew he sounded whiney, he knew he was interfering in the Patrick Stump Warm Up Routine…but damn if they hadn’t played these songs forever. It wasn’t like they were doing anything Patrick couldn’t handle. “Loosen up, it’s fine! Don’t be such a worrywart!” 

 

Blue eyes opened and zeroed in on him intently, and Pete heard Andy’s high-pitched snigger. He’d done it now…he’d thrown off Patrick’s Groove. Maybe he should have finished watching that movie after all, because if he remembered right, the person who threw off the _Emperor’s_ Groove got thrown off a cliff or something. Disturbing Patrick’s Groove was likely to be even worse.

 

“Will you _leave it_ with the damn videos, Pete! For fuck’s sake, or did you not remember _you_ convinced _me_ it would be a good idea to play “Skeletons” tonight?? The song where I have to hit like the highest fucking notes in the album?!” Patrick was right in front of him now, five feet of fury and wrath, but his voice came out low so that nobody else could hear. “Plus I didn’t exactly _sleep a lot last night.”_ At that, Pete looked at his shoes, slipping his phone into his pocket. He had a rough night, and that meant lots of clinging and questions that he knew the answers to, but wanted to hear again. Patrick had tolerated it as best he could, trying to calm him down but falling asleep adorably until Pete’s constant shifting had woken him up to repeat the cycle. 

 

Nodding, Pete stepped away, hands held up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll leave you to it.” 

 

Patrick glared at him a moment longer, huffing, and then turned away, moving to a different section of the staging area to finish his warmups. Pete looked at Andy, watching him rotate his wrists and open and close his hands in preparation. The Shirtless Wonder gave him a knowing look. “No, I don't want to see the otter either.” Shaking his head, Pete bemoaned the boring people he had as bandmates and flopped down on the couch. Before long, he was playing “Goat Simulator” and giggling like a megalomaniac. (Patrick had given him _so much shit_ for spending a whole _five dollars_ on a game where all you did was run a goat around and head-butt cars, people and buildings to death. Pete had argued you gotta enjoy the finer things in life when you’re a rockstar.) 

 

He was engrossed in the game (he had paid a paltry $0.99 for the medieval level, and his goat now had on sick armor and ran around destroying castles, which was fucking outstanding) when a warm hand came to rest on his thigh. Pete looked up and saw Patrick sitting on the couch next to him, right leg tucked up under his knee like he always did when he was nervous. 

 

“I’m sorry for bitching you out. Especially about last night. I’m…I’m always here for you. No matter what.” Patrick’s eyes were sorrowful and his lower lip was caught in his teeth, and it made Pete want to climb onto his lap and wrap him up in a Wentzel-hug and kiss that right off him. But he didn’t…not this close to the show. He settled for covering Patrick’s hand with his own and resting his head on his shoulder. 

 

He looked up into the pale face of his favorite person in the world and smiled. “I know. It’s okay, I shouldn’t thrown off your grove when you were in Prep Mode.” He couldn’t resist nuzzling into Patrick’s neck a bit, pressing a kiss to the soft skin there before pulling away. “You’re gonna kill it, Lunchbox. Not a doubt in my mind.” 

 

Patrick gave him a smile that was half shy self-doubt and half mockery of Pete’s confidence…but he brought Pete’s hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss to it softly. 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

The call came that they were five minutes from the show and Patrick stood, rolling his head around to loosen up. Joe threw their jackets at them with a bit more force then necessary and Pete flipped him off, smiling. 

 

“Someday I’m going to trade out your mousse for shaving cream, Trohman!!” 

 

“…and my hair will _still_ look better than yours, dumbfuck.” Joe’s grin was teasing and he shook his head dramatically. “Can’t keep these locks down!” 

 

Pete laughed and looked up at Patrick who was shrugging on his jacket. He straightened his shirt underneath and spread his hands in a pose no model would ever use—all sass and self-consciousness. “Will I do?” 

 

Smoothing the collar of Patrick’s button up under the neck of the jacket, Pete beamed at him. “Sexiest man alive.” 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes, but smiled that tiny smile that meant Pete had said just the right thing. Pulling on his jacket, Pete followed him down the short hallway towards the stage, already feeling the adrenaline starting to pump through him. The excitement, the thrill, the energy. Someone handed him his bass and he threw the strap over his shoulder, the familiar weight making him feel like he was a knight who had his trusted sword in his hand before the battle. 

 

Patrick was a few steps in front of him now, guitar slung low just like he liked. Pete took a moment to appreciate the view from behind—damn if Patrick’s ass didn’t look mighty fine tonight!—and couldn’t resist being a dick one more time. After all, it’s why Patrick loved him, right?

 

Moving forward, he swung his bass behind him and ground his groin into Patrick’s backside as he squeezed him into a tight hug from behind. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, he grinned at Patrick’s squeak of surprise and protest at his sneak-attack. He swore he could feel him shiver when he pressed his lips close to Patrick’s ear so he could hear his whisper over the noise of the crowd. 

 

“You’re gonna kill it.” 

 

Then Pete let go, running away like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, bounding on stage like it was their very first show. 

 

~//~

 

_There's a room in a hotel in New York City_

_That shares our fate and deserves our pity_

_I don't want to remember it all_

_The promises I made if you just hold on_

_Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on_

_Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on_

_Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on_

_Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on_

 

Patrick’s voice soared like a bird taking flight, and when he hit the final note—high and clear and perfect—Pete grinned. The crowd went wild, cheering and screaming, and Patrick’s face was exultant, triumph plainly written over his features when he looked over at Pete. 

 

They rolled into the final song— _Saturday,_ because it was what they always did—and then the show was over. The lights went off and they moved offstage, almost blind in the sudden darkness. Strong arms wrapped around Pete as he reached the ground, and Patrick’s voice was in his ear, hoarse and hungry.

 

“I’m going to make sure that the you’re the one hitting the hight notes tonight.” 

 

Pete shivered and let out a surprised yelp that turned into a hiss as Patrick’s teeth sunk into his neck just as his hand dropped for a split second to palm him through his jeans. But then he was pushed away from the place he wanted to stay forever, and they rounded the corner back into the dimly lit hallway. Patrick gave him a secret grin as he handed off his guitar, and Pete swore he winked. 

 

 

~//~

 

As soon as the hotel door shut behind them, Patrick had Pete shoved roughly against it, lips already pressed to his neck. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin there, like he wanted to swallow him whole. Pete groaned as Patrick’s tongue ran over his collarbone, turning to a gasp as he bit down. His hands slid up under Pete’s shirt, hands hot against already fevered flesh, pulling his shirt off. Mouths met and crashed together, tongues plumbing and lips moving. Pete slipped his hands against the soft skin around Patrick’s waistband and pulled him close. They ground against each other for a long moment, gasps falling between frenzied kisses, until Patrick reached between them to his belt buckle, hands shaking as he yanked Pete’s pants down like they were personally offending him. 

 

They pushed and pulled each other as clothes came off and they tumbled to the bed, neither wanting to give an inch as they kiss and bite and lick and squeeze and scratch. Patrick gets his arms under Pete’s and pushes him up higher on the bed, sucking his shoulder as their cocks brush between their bodies and Pete bucks up into him. He swallowed Pete’s cries as he reached down between them and wraps his hand around Pete’s cock, smearing precum on his fingers. Reaching down to the floor, he grabbed Pete’s flannel from where it had fallen, and ties Pete’s hands together and to the headboard in a feat of creative knot-work that he’d be proud of, if his mind wasn’t focused on the writhing mass of horny Pete beneath him. Slithering down, Patrick bites into his shoulder, hard enough that Pete let’s out a startled yelp that turns into a breathy groan. 

 

“Gonna make you see stars.” His voice is rough from singing, dragging over the syllables as arousal makes it breathy. “Gonna make you sing for me, just the way I like.” He bit his way down Pete’s body, nipping and licking, until he reached his groin, biting the indent of Pete’s hip and making him yelp. “I’m going to make you come until you can’t move, but not until I say you can.” Pete shivered and Patrick caught a flash of honey eyes looking down at him before he sucked Pete into his mouth. He cried out, high and reedy, as his hips came off the bed unconsciously. Patrick held him down as he sucked slowly, tortuously, just enough to make Pete shudder but _not quite enough_. With his other hand, he reached up and slid three fingers into Pete’s mouth. Eagerly, Pete sucked like his life depended on it, still moaning as he mimicked Patrick’s mouth on his cock. 

  
Pulling his fingers out, and ignoring the groan, Patrick trailed his spit-slicked fingers down Pete’s body. Gently, he eased one inside, and the older man made a choked sound before clenching and bearing down, shamelessly begging _more oh my God more please Patrick please fuck Patrick need more._ Carefully, Patrick eased a second in, letting Pete’s body relax around it before he began to move, to gently stroke and search for _that place…_

 

Pete arched his back and bucked against Patrick as his fingers brushed his target, and Patrick smiled, adding a third and final finger. Pete hissed, but Patrick knew him well enough to know it wasn’t a sound of pain but of want. He pulled off of Pete’s cock, leaving it spit-slicked and glistening. He had originally planned to suck him until he came, but a new idea had floated through his mind, and he _liked it._  

 

Moving from his crouched position between Pete’s legs, Patrick moved as best he could up to straddle one of Pete’s legs, while still keeping his fingers buried inside him, stroking, soothing, teasing. He made sure to stroke that place every few thrusts, but lightly, tantalizingly—not too much but also not too little. He placed his own hand on his hard and weeping cock, and couldn’t hold back the sigh of bliss as he stroked just the way he liked. 

 

Pete’s eyes snapped open at the sound, dark and hungry, pupils blown. 

 

“Patrick, please please let me suck you, God I want you so bad, please—“

  
“No.” Patrick’s voice was deep and authoritative. “I don’t want anything in that mouth of yours. I want to hear you when I finish you just. Like. This.” With each word, he crooked his fingers just the way he knew Pete liked, and stroked and worried that place that made him arch his back and writhe like he had touched a live wire to his skin. He was close, too—sucking Pete always made him harder than anything—and his hand was moving in the perfect counterpoint to the hand buried in Pete. 

 

“Do you want to come?” He gasped out the words, all the calm authority in his voice swept away in a torrent of arousal and want. Pete babbled, trying desperately to ride his hand, but Patrick’s weight settled on the leg he was sitting on made that impossible. So all he could do was lay there and take what Patrick was giving him, to submit to his body’s demands and _ask for it._

 

_“Please Patrick please need to come so bad please please let me God Patrick feels so good please I need—“_

 

The urgent pleas falling ragged from Pete’s lips was enough to send Patrick over the edge. He came in great spurts all over Pete’s belly and chest, barely finding the strength to stay upright. The hand buried in Pete stuttered with the force of it, and Pete cried out, begging him to _make me come Patrick please!_ Gasping, he crooked his fingers just right and gasped out permission. 

“Come for me. Now.” 

 

Pete groaned from somewhere deep inside and threw his head back as he came, crying out Patrick’s name like it was the only word left in his vocabulary. His body shuddered with the force of it, and Patrick milked him through it, helping him ride the wave of ecstasy as long as he could until he was left boneless and murmuring Patrick’s name like a prayer. 

 

Pulling his fingers free, Patrick carefully untied Pete, then maneuvered off the bed and went to the bathroom. He washed his hands and slipped on a pair of pajama pants, before coming back out with a warm washcloth. Gently, he began to wipe Pete clean, who was already half asleep. 

 

“-noo, Lunchbox, stay allll sschhticky with meee…” Pete’s words were slurred with sleep, and a dopey grin was plastered on his face. 

 

“Gross. No.” Patrick finished cleaning him up, turned off the light, and dropped the washcloth to the floor. He pulled the covers up over them both as he laid down, Pete automatically rolling over and burrowing himself against Patrick’s side and into his arms. 

 

“Love you.” Pete whispered the words in the darkness as Patrick checked to make sure he set his alarm for bus call in the morning. Looking down at Pete, his face illuminated in the blue light of his phone screen, Patrick smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

 

“Love you more.” 


End file.
